


Lines in the Sand

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Asexual Character, Canonical Character Death, akane is a therapist au, background Kougami/Ginoza, background other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new therapist at Ginoza's job is practically a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Or the AU where everything is the same except Akane is the new therapist at the PSB. I just like the idea of someone as sharp and caring as her being able to do that kind of work, even if she would be tempted to break the rules. It's better than, well, the person who was actually the therapist the whole time. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Also if any of you are on tumblr, I'm catsbythegreat there. Lots of fun blogging to be had.

The new therapist at Ginoza's job is practically a child. 

That's a bit cruel. The new therapist is, however, not yet twenty-one. She can't legally drink. She's only just taken the tests which determine what careers she's qualified for. She must have scored well, in order to be considered to work at the Public Safety Bureau. 

But why on earth would she choose to be a therapist to inspectors and enforcers? 

The previous therapist had been in his mid-thirties, experienced. He'd also disappeared suddenly, according to the official explanation, which makes Ginoza uncomfortable when he thinks too much about it, because he shared his inner-most thoughts with that guy. Mostly. 

A twenty-year-old couldn't possibly have enough life experience to deal with the sort of people she'd need to be dealing with. Her hue would cloud, and she'd end up a latent criminal herself. 

Ginoza stares at her and she stares back at him with large eyes. They're a light brown, and although they should be what some people would call “adorable” there's a sharpness about them that makes Ginoza push his glasses up to shield his own eyes. He sits perched on the chair opposite hers, arms crossed, watching as the light from the fireplace next to them flickers over his new therapist's face. 

She'd introduced herself as Tsunemori Akane. Now she lowers her gaze, flickers her fingers across the surface of a tablet in her lap. Ginoza feels a bit like a lab sample held under a microscope. 

“Ginoza,” she says. “I've been given the files kept by your previous therapist. It says here that you've kept monthly appointments throughout your time here, which is the standard for all staff. But he had concerns about your issues with anxiety, and about your friend's recent demotion to enforcer, as well as the loss of one of your other enforcers, which can only add to the issues you're experiencing.” She looks up. “Another inspector has been hired, right?” 

“Yes.” She's also very young, now that Ginoza thinks about it. Nineteen. He feels old for a moment, then remembers he hasn't turned thirty yet, and that the rest of his team isn't nineteen. 

“Shimotsuki,” Tsunemori says. “Do you like her?” 

It's a weird question. Ginoza struggles. “She is inexperienced,” he says finally, “but I can see why she was hired.” 

“Oh, I guessed she'd be competent,” Tsunemori says, offering him a small smile. “But do you like her? As a person? Is she easy to work with?” 

Ginoza blinks. “It's only been two weeks,” he says. “I haven't really had a chance to talk to her.” 

Tsunemori makes a note. “And your relationship with your enforcers?” 

“I'm an inspector and they're my subordinates.” 

“But your friend--” 

“They're hunting dogs. That's their job.” As he says it he immediately realizes that he's let her get to him. He swallows and takes a deep breath, but it isn't very calming because he can see that she's making more notes. 

“Do they make you angry?” 

“No.” This through gritted teeth. Masaoka has been making him angry ever since he left the family. Kougami makes him angry just by being in the room, and makes things worse by trying to chase ghosts. Ghosts that he gave up his career for. 

And his friendship. 

A friendship that wasn't important enough to him. 

Tsunemori makes a little humming noise. “I think,” she says, “you might benefit from weekly appointments.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just until your stress becomes more manageable.” Again, she gives him a small smile. “Your crime coefficient has risen five points in the past few months.” 

So that is the real concern. “Once a week,” he repeats. 

“It's just an hour,” Tsunemori says. 

Ginoza bristles. With therapists, it's never just an hour. Still, he finds himself saying, “Fine,” because he doesn't really have a reason not to. He may be busy, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have an hour to spare during the week. 

This time Tsunemori's smile is wide and Ginoza can't help but think about how it will break her heart to learn that she can't help everyone all the time. 

*

Ginoza gets into an argument with Shimotsuki and almost forgets to go to his appointment when he storms outside to calm down for a bit. But then a reminder beeps on his wrist communication device and he rushes to Tsunemori's office.

“It'll take some getting used to,” she says. 

“I was finishing a report,” Ginoza tells her, unsure why he feels the need to come up with an excuse. But he does. 

“It's fine,” Tsunemori says. “How is work going?” 

Ginoza bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard. “Fine,” he says. 

Tsunemori raises an eyebrow. “You sees upset.” 

“I am not upset. I ran here. I'm out of breath. Those are two different things.” 

“You're tense.” 

“Running makes you tense.” 

“Does it?” She makes a note. “Ginoza, these sessions would work better if you were honest with me.” She doesn't look away from him, even though he glares at her in a way that Kougami once said could form ice out of fire. 

Then he says, “Inspector Shimotsuki has an immature way of dealing with things she doesn't like, and I gave her a talking to, and she responded by trying to find out things that were none of her business, and then Masaoka stepped in, undermining my authority--” He cuts himself off before he can start yelling. Again. 

“She thinks you're not doing a good job,” Tsunemori says. 

“I'm sure she doesn't think anyone is,” Ginoza snaps, “but I don't see how she can do it better. She clashes with Kougami's methods a lot, and I can't say I approve of them either, but Kougami has been working here for almost ten years, and she hasn't been here for more than a month.” 

“But you think she's right?” 

“Sometimes. But the way she goes about expressing her displeasure is wrong, bordering on unprofessional.” 

“Do you think you're good at your job?” 

Ginoza's mouth drops open. 

“It's just,” Tsunemori continues, “naturally when most people are challenged like that, they start to think about whether they are good at what they do or not. I mean, if someone were to question my abilities as a therapist I'd start thinking about whether or not they were right.” 

“Shimotsuki keeps digging herself holes,” Ginoza says after processing this, “and possibly is trying to get me fired. Kougami keeps recklessly putting himself in danger. The others have nothing to say about it. And no one listens to me. It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what results I have to show for my work. The same thing that matters for you.” 

“Your mental state can have an effect on performance,” Tsunemori points out. 

“You might think you're a great therapist,” Ginoza continues, not listening, “because Sybil told you that you have an aptitude for it. But there will be a number of people who come in here that you will try to save, and you will fail. Inspectors will become latent criminals and will be demoted to enforcers. Enforcers' crime coefficients will rise too high, allowing them to be killed in the name of discipline. Whether or not that happens is what matters. But it will happen.” 

“Because I'm not good at my job?” Tsunemori asks. Something shifts in her eyes, gives her an edge that almost takes away her softness. 

“Because no matter how good you are at your job,” Ginoza says, “you'll never be good enough to manage other people. No one ever is.” 

“These are your insecurities,” Tsunemori says, making another note. She sounds calm, but she looks tense, her hands gripping her tablet a little too tightly. 

But when she looks up again, it's with a smile. “Thank you for opening up to me today,” she says. 

Ginoza doesn't quite know how to respond to that. 

*

“I want to kill him.” 

“Makishima?” 

“You've been reading our case files?” Of course she has. “No, Kougami.” 

Tsunemori frowns. “Why would you want to kill Kougami?” 

“Because he's reckless. Because he ran straight into a trap without telling anyone, got shot, and nearly got killed.” Ginoza's hands are shaking. He can still smell the gunpowder. “If I kill him then no one else will, and at least I'll expect it, and at least he'll deserve it for being a--” He sucks in a breath. 

“Being a?” 

Ginoza shakes his head. 

Tsunemori taps her fingers against her tablet, not typing, just thinking. Then she says, “Do you love him?” 

“What?” Ginoza half rises from his chair before he realizes what he's done, and when he does, he sits down hard. “Kougami is my subordinate.” 

“You mentioned you were friends.” 

Ginoza's teeth click together, forcing him to stay silent. 

“We don't have to talk about him,” Tsunemori says. “But do you have someone?” 

“What?” 

“To talk to or just be with? A lover, a significant other? It could help?” 

“Do you?” Ginoza snaps, just to be spiteful. 

Tsunemori shrugs. “Not since I've come here, sadly. It's a busy job.” 

“It is,” Ginoza agrees. “Shion told me that sex is quite relaxing. Is that really what you're saying? That I need to relax?” 

Tsunemori outright laughs. “Not at all. Unless you find that relaxing.” 

“Not at all,” Ginoza mutters. “I'd rather file reports all day.” 

“What you're saying is, you don't have anyone?” 

“Relationships are out of the question.” 

“Because you don't want them?” Her voice is gentle now. Coaxing. He hates how it works. 

“No,” Ginoza admits. “I do. It's just...” 

Tsunemori leans forward. 

“Dangerous,” he says. 

“Why?” 

He hates thinking about the why. He realizes that he's stood up again, and mutters something about needing to get back early because Shimotsuki had questions earlier, which is a terrible excuse. 

Instead he goes into the nearest bathroom and locks himself in a stall, taking deep breaths and tries not to think. Because he can see blood, splattered on the floor, and the view of a too high crime coefficient through the lens of his dominator, and the number is rising to lethal levels, one point every second. 

He punches the door and pulls his hand back. The knuckles are bleeding, hurt, but it pulls him out of his own head. He goes to the sink and rinses the small cuts as best he can, knowing they will bruise, and dries his hands. Mechanical actions, but helpful ones, and by the time he heads back to the office he is some semblance of calm. 

*

“Masaoka is my father, you know.” 

“I know.” 

He shouldn't be surprised. She seems to know everything about him. “Then you know that he was named a latent criminal when I was a child, and left the family, and my mother and I were ostracized for it, right?” 

“I didn't know that,” Tsunemori says. 

Ginoza sighs. He talks about his father because he doesn't want to talk about Kougami. Because Kougami is moving further and further away from him and he just can't think about that right now, not if he doesn't want a repeat of last week's incident. 

He's glad that Tsunemori doesn't ask about it. 

“He let his job take over his life,” Ginoza says, “which I was angry at him for then, and am still angry at him for now, but I think I understand it now.” He laughs, quietly. “This job pulls you in and doesn't let go until you're locked up or dead.” 

“Some inspectors have retired happily,” Tsunemori points out. 

“Ah yes, the therapy helped them,” Ginoza says. It's a little mean, but Tsunemori doesn't take the bait. 

“How do you see your job ending?” she asks. 

Ginoza doesn't like to think about it. He narrows his eyes. “How about your job, Tsunemori? How do you see that ending?” 

“I'm quite different to an inspector,” Tsunemori says. “I'm not on the front lines, for one thing.” 

“No, you just have to listen to our problems,” Ginoza says, “and hope that what you have to say can solve them, despite the fact that you've never been in the field and couldn't possibly know what we're going through.” 

“You're right,” Tsunemori says. “But sometimes you need someone on the outside to help you see things more clearly.” 

“And does helping all those people cloud your hue?” 

Tsunemori shakes her head. “That's why I'm good at this job. My hue can take a beating.” 

“Good for you,” Ginoza says. He half means it, and he's half jealous. Why couldn't Kougami have a hue that could take a beating? Or his father, for that matter? 

“You wish the others around you could have kept their hues clear,” Tsunemori says. 

Ginoza opens his mouth, then shuts it. 

“I think our hour is up,” Tsunemori adds. 

And Ginoza thinks, in some ways, she is very good at her job. 

*

“It's an inspector's job to manage the others and it's an enforcer's job to protect the inspector and prevent psychological damage.” 

“Ginoza, you don't really care about your psycho-pass, do you?” 

He leaves her office early that day. 

*

“Let me rephrase,” Tsunemori says. “One of your enforcers is under the impression that you and Shimotsuki are too concerned about your own psycho-passes rather than on fulfilling the duties of an investigator.” 

Ginoza clenches his fists. “That enforcer wouldn't happen to be Kougami, would it?” 

“I'm obligated not to say,” Tsunemori tells him. Her face gives nothing away. 

But Ginoza just knows. He knows because there are two people on his team who doubt his ability to be a true investigator. One is Masaoka, but Masaoka has never seen him as good enough. The other is Kougami. 

“It's him,” Ginoza says. 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“We had an argument,” Ginoza admits. Because why not? She always seems to know everything anyway. “Over the Makishima case. He's going to go too far. I confronted him, and he said that I'm just...an office drone. Not a real investigator. That Shimotsuki and I are just a front, used to make the PSB look nice while the real investigators do the work.” The words leave an acid taste in his mouth and they keep running around and around in his head. They had this argument yesterday, and Ginoza hadn't slept. He knows the argument well enough now to recite it word-for-word. 

“Do you think he's right?” 

“No.” Yes. Because Kougami's opinion has always mattered to him. Other peoples' opinions of him have always mattered to him. But Kougami was his best friend. Kougami's dismissal...

“You're ruminating over it,” Tsunemori says. 

“I am not.” 

“You are. You look like you haven't slept. You're overly tense. You denied that way too quickly. You can barely keep your voice level when talking about it. Besides,” she recites these things like simple facts, the way Kougami recites the findings of a case, and it makes something uncurl and claw at his insides, the way she's like him and he hasn't noticed until now, “your file states anxiety as one of your problems. It's common for people with anxiety to ruminate. You must be repeating what he said to yourself over and over again, and letting it get to you.” 

“I am not,” he repeats, but it's weak. 

Tsunemori leans forward. “I'm here to help, but I can only do that if you're honest. You can't stop thinking about it, can you?” 

He shakes his head, and imagines Kougami sitting across from him, cigarette dangling from his fingertips, eyes sharp and searching. Ruthless. 

Tsunemori's ruthlessness is kinder. It comes with an encouraging smile. “I think mindfulness would be helpful to you. I'm not going to tell you to ignore your thoughts, because that would be useless and probably impossible for you. Instead, I'm going to tell you to embrace them. And once you've done that, you can begin to work through them, and accept them.” 

“Accept them,” Ginoza repeats. 

“Not accept that they're right,” Tsunemori tells him, “but accept that they exist, and that you need to confront them. Once you accept them, you can think about why they affect you so much. Do you think this could be helpful?” 

“I—yes.” 

“Good.” Her smile widens. 

Kougami never pulled his thoughts out of him as gently as Tsunemori is doing right now. 

It scares him. 

*

Cognitive Behavior Therapy. It's a bit like training his brain to not run itself into circles over certain things. To not let certain thoughts run around his head until they cut grooves deep enough to hurt. 

Tsunemori is patient, more patient than anyone else he knows. Even when he snaps at her, or is cruel, she takes it in stride. She has a quiet confidence that isn't hurt by his insults, and he wishes she could give part of it to him. 

The Makishima case takes over his life. They're incredibly busy. The city erupts in anarchy when Makishima finds a way to get peoples' intentions and actions past the Sybil System. And then

*

“Ginoza?” Tsunemori looks up from her tablet to see Ginoza standing in the doorway looking haggard and drawn. “Your appointment is tomorrow.” 

“I--” Ginoza's body turns slowly, a stuttering movement. 

“Wait,” Tsunemori says. “Sit. I'm free for a bit.” 

“You have work to do,” Ginoza says, but he turns back to her. Tsunemori gestures for him to sit, and he haltingly moves forward and collapses into the chair across from her. As soon as he's there, he makes to stand up again. “Sorry, I shouldn't be bothering--” 

“Sit,” Tsunemori says, sternly. 

Her tone makes Ginoza laugh, a little hysterically. She frowns at him and he falls back into the chair. “Sorry,” he says. “I needed a laugh. You reminded me of how I talk to my dog.” 

“You have a dog?” 

Ginoza's face lights up. “A husky named Dime. Like the coin. He's very well trained, and unfortunately I haven't been able to spend as much time with him because of the Makishima case. It's never been this busy.” He leans forward. “Do you have any pets, Tsunemori?”

“You should call me Akane,” she says. “This isn't as formal as your office.” She thinks about it. “No. The sort of animals I like wouldn't make good pets.” 

“What sort of animals do you like?” 

“Jellyfish.” She blushes a little. 

“Jellyfish,” Ginoza repeats. “That's interesting. They seem like beautiful creatures.” 

“They are,” Akane says, “and there's many different kinds. They're not like dogs at all, though. You can't cuddle a jellyfish. Well, you can, but...” She shrugs. “They sting. You like dogs?” 

Ginoza latches onto this question. “I love dogs. I'm actually qualified to be a dog therapist. You probably saw that in my file. I heavily considered it, too. Dogs are easier to deal with than people. They're happier. And loyal. Perhaps because they're so dependent on us, but I like to think that Dime actually likes me for reasons other than that I give him food.” 

“I'm sure he does,” Akane says. 

“He's playful,” Ginoza adds. “He loves playing games. And he loves cuddling. And people. He really loves people.” 

“He sounds lovely,” Akane says. 

“He is,” Ginoza says. His expression shutters. “He's getting old. I had another dog, Ron, who died.” He trails off. 

Akane leans forward, but doesn't say a word. 

“Kagari is dead,” Ginoza says, softly. Barely loud enough to hear. “Chief Kasei says that he's missing, officially, and that he tried to run. I know he's dead. And that I've failed him.” He stands, suddenly. “I'm sorry, Akane.” 

Before she can say anything he rushes out of the room. 

*

“Your crime coefficient has risen seven points,” Akane tells him during their scheduled appointment. “That's a concerning number. I would recommend treatment immediately.” 

Ginoza outright laughs. It just forces its way up his throat and out, and he wraps his arms around himself like that can keep the laughter in. 

“Ginoza?” 

Ginoza swallows the rest of his laughter and looks at Akane, who seems concerned. The concern on her face is overwhelming, and he wants to start laughing again, because why should she care for him? Why does it look so genuine on her? It's her job, it's just her job. But she looks like she means it. 

“Ginoza,” Akane repeats, a bit more firm. 

“I can't,” he manages. “We're—the Makishima case—” 

“Your mental health,” Akane starts, but Ginoza cuts across her. 

“You can't cure me, Akane, if that's what you're thinking,” he says. “The situation will resolve itself once we catch Makishima and Division One can close this case as a success.” 

Akane frowns at him. Then she asks, “How's Kougami?” 

Ginoza turns cold. “Why?” 

“You care about him a lot.” 

“Kougami is the same as he ever was,” Ginoza says. He doesn't want to think about Kougami. He starts to get up. 

“Our hour isn't over,” Akane says. 

“I'm done,” Ginoza tells her. 

“You can't do this,” Akane says, her voice rising. “I am qualified at this job, despite what you think. I was hired because I am capable of helping people who need it. But those people have to let me help them. You have to stop being a stubborn idiot and admit that you need help.” Her cheeks are red, but she holds firm. 

Ginoza stares at her. “I know I need help. I don't have--” 

“You make time,” Akane snaps. “You should always make time to care for yourself.” 

“Of course,” Ginoza says, “because no one else will.” Akane's eyes widen. 

“Ginoza--” 

“Kougami is planning to run, and the next time I see him I'll have to kill him,” Ginoza says. “In fact, I almost ended up killing him today, but Masaoka paralyzed him instead. I don't know how, but Kasei altered my dominator. It shouldn't have been able to kill him but it was going to. If I pulled the trigger. And even though Kougami left, even though he's going to leave, I couldn't do it. And now he's going to go after Makishima because he doesn't think the rest of us are good enough to catch him. He thinks we're holding him back. And we probably are.” Ginoza rakes his fingers through his hair. “Damn it! We are. We are holding him back. I'm holding this team back. And now I have to kill my best friend because I couldn't stop him from--” 

“Ginoza,” Akane says. 

Ginoza lowers his hands, which are shaking. His face has gone white. 

“You need help,” she says. “You need to take time for treatment. This is all getting too much--” 

“Everyone thinks I can't handle it,” Ginoza says. “Everyone thinks it's too much. I have to finish this case. I have to see this through. If I don't, if I find out that Kougami died while I was taking time off for treatment, I won't recover. You have to understand that.” 

The way Akane looks at him, he knows that she does understand. She doesn't like it, but she does understand. 

“At the very least, do the thought exercises I taught you.” 

“Okay.” 

He stands up and leaves, like a man walking to his execution. 

*

Division One is a mess. 

Masaoka is dead. Kougami is gone. Shimotsuki is managing a heavily diminished Division One by herself. Ginoza is in the hospital, his arm injured beyond repair. 

His crime coefficient is also beyond repair. 

Akane visits him in the isolation facility, after he's been fitted with a prosthetic arm. He sits against the wall on his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, pale and exhausted. His hair is even longer than it had been a few weeks ago, but his glasses are gone. 

Akane steps up to the glass partition. Ginoza looks at her, his eyes dull. 

“I'm sorry,” she says. 

“He's gone,” Ginoza says. His voice is hoarse. “He left.” 

“You're angry.” 

“I...” Ginoza sighs. “If only I'd...I don't know what I could have done, but I should have done something. This is my fault. It's all my fault.” He bunches up the fabric of his pants in his hands, buries his face in his knees. 

“Ginoza,” Akane says, “they both made choices. It's not your fault.” 

Ginoza's shoulders are shaking. He doesn't look up. She can hear him, muffled, saying, “I failed.” 

“You can still help people,” Akane says. 

“As a dog,” Ginoza mutters. 

“You love dogs,” Akane says. Ginoza raises his head, eyes red-rimmed, narrowed. Akane offers him a small smile. 

In return, he allows himself a small laugh. 

“You must look at me as one of your failures,” he says after a moment. 

Akane shakes her head. “Not at all.” 

“You think,” he says, “that I should go back to the job that broke me?” 

“Enforcer is different from inspector,” Akane says. “I'd say that as an enforcer, you'd be in a better position to help people. And you won't be held to the rigorous expectations that inspectors are held to. I think the job would suit you, actually. You feel the need to protect those around you. What better way is there for you to do that? It would be preferable to you sitting in a cell and thinking about how you can't protect the ones you care about from inside this place.” 

“But Kougami...and my father...” 

“Are in the past,” Akane says. “And who knows? If you're out there and not in here, maybe you can find Kougami.” 

“And do what? Kill him?” 

“Talk to him.” Akane sighs. “I know you two have a lot unresolved between you. I think it would help you to talk to him. In fact, I think that would be best, but obviously, he's not here.” 

“If he were here, the PSB would have to bring him in for questioning.” 

“Ginoza, you do have to make a choice.” 

Ginoza nods. “I will.” 

*

Ginoza decides to become an enforcer. He keeps up his weekly meetings with Akane and they mostly talk about how he's adjusting to life as a latent criminal. It isn't as terrible as he thought it might be. He can't leave the building without an inspector (Shimotsuki or, more pleasantly, Aoyanagi) but he can keep his dog. And Dime makes it better. 

And protecting his inspectors and going deep into the trenches to investigate crimes gives him a more fulfilling sense of purpose than he previously had. He thinks, perhaps as an inspector he should have been on the front lines more. But Akane always tells him that he can't keep thinking of what might have been, so he doesn't. 

Or at least, he tries. 

Then there's Kougami, who seems to have disappeared completely. There is no trace of him. Perhaps he is overseas, or perhaps he's in the countryside where no one really lives anymore. Sometimes Ginoza dreams about meeting him again, in various settings, and he doesn't remember what they say to each other, but when he wakes up, he feels an ache in his chest because he doesn't want the dream to have ended. 

The distance—from his old job, from the people who are gone—gives him room to think. He isn't mired in his own stress anymore. Losing everything has had the effect of taking that weight off him. He wishes it didn't have to be that way. 

It's because of that distance that he can say to Akane, “I need someone.” 

Akane looks surprised, and he doesn't blame her. He's spent so long trying to hide things from her. 

“Kougami,” he starts, and then trails off, tapping his fingers against his leg. 

“I understand,” Akane says with a friendly smile. “This place can be isolating. I feel like I need people, too.” 

This time Ginoza is surprised, because Akane has never been so personal with him before. “Are you allowed to tell me that?” 

“Perhaps not,” Akane says. “But I was thinking. Maybe right now you don't need a therapist. Or, you need someone besides a therapist.” 

“I do need a therapist,” Ginoza says, frowning. 

“You also need a friend,” Akane tells him. “I can be one to you. We can meet outside of these sessions, and talk about anything.” 

“Why would you want to do that?” Ginoza asks. She's seen the worst of him. She's seen the parts of himself that are ugly and irrational and not fit for interaction with other humans. 

Akane tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “You know I talked to Kougami too, yes?” 

Ginoza nods. 

“He told me to take care of you because he wouldn't be able to,” she says, and Ginoza's throat constricts. “He knew he could never give you what you needed. And neither can I, if Kougami is what you need. But I can help. As a friend.” 

“Kougami's never coming back,” Ginoza rasps. He has tried not to think about it. 

“He never said that,” Akane says. 

“It would be easier if he did,” Ginoza snaps. “Instead of leaving me here, waiting. It'd be easier if he just said he was, or he wasn't, and not this in-between.” 

“I know,” Akane says, and she sounds so emotional that Ginoza looks harder at her. She catches the way he's looking at her and says, “He became my friend.” 

“He was your patient.” 

“So are you.” 

“If you blur the line between work and your personal life, you're at risk,” Ginoza says, the words tumbling out too fast. “You'll cloud your hue, and then you won't have a job, and everyone around you will be hurt because you didn't think about what would happen if you became a latent criminal. And if you don't think, you'll--” 

“Ginoza.” Akane looks sad. “I can manage my hue fine.” 

Ginoza knows that she can. It doesn't stop the fear that she will get hurt. And the intensity of it surprises him. He cares about her. He's the one who's incapable of managing his hue. He's the one who's been letting the lines blur in his job, letting his emotions get to him. 

“You've spent years with too many boundaries between you and other people,” Akane says, bringing him out of his thoughts. “It would help you to relax, to break them down. If you can do it with me, then maybe, when you meet Kougami--” 

“We're on equal footing now,” Ginoza says. 

“Ranking-wise, yes,” Akane says. “But you still see him as the person who betrayed you, who doesn't care about you, and you would keep him at arm's length. But that's not it at all. He does care. You have to let people get close to you in order to see that.” 

“I did,” Ginoza says, “and he hurt me.” 

“He didn't do it to hurt you,” Akane says. 

Ginoza looks at his hands, clenched to keep them from shaking. He never should have said anything. Part of him wants to run out of the room, go back to the office, cancel his future appointments, and pretend like this never happened. To delete Akane from his mind, and Kougami, and Masaoka. 

The other part of him knows that would be impossible, that he'd always be fighting against them. 

He doesn't have friends on his team. Not really. He cares about them, but they've never been close. 

He can't get by with no one. 

He looks up at Akane, who is watching him, not even trying to hide the hopeful expression on her face. If he's going to move forward, he needs to do it now. 

“Akane,” he says, finally. “I would like to be your friend.”


End file.
